


Perfect

by Paraprosdokia (ChangeableConsistency)



Category: Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: (Pepper's Dad), F/M, I am so sorry, Knitting, Minor Character Death, Only the thinnest of threads tying this to the prompt, Or maybe crocheting, Warning: Feels Fish, shameless fluff, that is a terrible pun, with FEELS, yarnening at any rate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-30
Updated: 2013-04-30
Packaged: 2017-12-09 23:37:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/779285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChangeableConsistency/pseuds/Paraprosdokia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony knits. And crochets. And weaves. And he's reached the point where he's comfortable crafting in front of the others. Maybe he knits during movie nights or something. Somebody starts mocking him and he a) gives them a history lesson (knitting used to be men's work) b) gives them a list of men who knit (like Russell Crowe)and c) threatens to take them off the hand knitted gift list. And he's still totally manly. Maybe he starts teaching one of the others.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gottabekiddinme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gottabekiddinme/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Gen, Tony, crafts](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/20807) by Anon. 



> Sorry! This is all sorts of run-on-ing and barely touches on the meat of the prompt. I am also playing fast and loose with the time line. :p
> 
> Warning: Comment fic, Unbeta'd, Unedited.

When Tony murmured, "I wonder...?" after watching Demolition Man she had honestly expected him to breathe life back into SI's cryogenics department (to be fair, he had increased its funding before promptly forgetting all about it). 

Instead she was pleasantly surprised with a sweater a few days later. It looked like it had been made by a colorblind monkey using one foot and its tail, but it was incredibly soft, and it was the first gift from Tony that she hadn't picked out herself. 

She likes the expertly made ones he leaves for her now and then, wearing them when they're in Aspen or the Alps (Tony can never remember if he prefers the Swiss or the French and doesn't believe her when she says he changes his mind every time); but on really tough days, the ones that make her want to trade in her Louboutins for wading boots and join her brother farming cranberries in Conneticut, she turns up the AC in her apartment and slips on that first sweater with its one too short (lime green) and one too long (orange and lavender striped) sleeves, its neck and waist almost the same size, tight around her knees and ridiculously loose at her shoulders. The pastel yellow and white stitches up the center have darkened until they almost match the blue at the collar and cuffs (faded from how often she's washed it). 

It's soft and warm and feels like home in a way nothing else does these days. 

Six weeks after her birthday, she's worn it so many times it starts to unravel, and so she only brings it out when she really, _really_ , needs it.

Nearly a year later he surprises her by not only remembering her birthday (not that he's likely to ever forget it again, and she thinks maybe they would both be happier pretending it was a different day), but by asking her what she wants. 

She brings it to him, handling it carefully, afraid to unfold it lest it collapse into a pile of tangled yarn. 

"Fix it." 

She has no doubt that he can; and the only other thing she truly wants, for him to promise to always come back to her, she can't bring herself ask, afraid he'll lie to her.

Afraid he won't. 

"Pep!? I can't believe you kept this. I'll make you a new one. Free range alpaca? Free trade silk? Name it," he starts to toss it aside.

"No!" 

"What?"

"No. Fix this one. Don't change it. Don't make it better. Just fix it."

He slowly spreads it out on the workbench, taking his time so as to minimize the dropped stitches. He strokes his fingers down the shorter sleeve and repeats, this time in a whisper, "I can't believe you kept this."

She comes up behind him, wrapping one arm around his waist and twining the fingers of her free hand with his to trace over the failing seams, "Of course I did. It's perfect."

He turns and tucks a rosy lock of hair behind her ear, surprised that it dared escape the tight confines of her sleek pony tail, "You have a funny definition of 'perfect', Potts."

She leans in for a chaste kiss, whispering against his lips, "Perfect."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sigh. So this wouldn't leave me alone.

Clint shivers as he walks into the common room, about to ask JARVIS if he has some sort of 'cold' (heh, he cracks himself up) when he notices Stark's girl curled up in the corner the couch wearing what may be the ugliest thing he's ever seen, and that includes Fury's undercover stint as his 'pimp' that one time (Huggy Bear he was not), "Hey, Miss Potts," he fumbles awkwardly, "Uh, how ya doin'?" 

He wants to shoot himself as tears well up in her red rimmed eyes. Stupid question, she just got back in town from her father's funeral. He may not understand the relationship they had (care packages sent back and forth, phone calls every Sunday, Pepper asking when he was going to settle down with 'that nice young man' and her father joking back that he could ask the same) but he understands loss that rips out your heart and makes you feel hollow.

She holds out her arms and he looks around hoping Stark will swoop in and save them both, but no such luck. He hugs her loosely and doesn't hide his huff of surprise when he feels the softness of the sweater, tightening the embrace and resting his cheek against her shoulder. The hug comforts him as much as her, and he hasn't realized he needed it.

"This is nice." he says stroking his arm down the orange and lavender sleeve, patched with bright red stitches and meaning more than the sweater. 

She pulls back and stares at him, her frown softening until her lips curve into an almost smile, "Tony made it for me."

He snorts, "Really?"

She nods, "God's honest."

"Huh."

A couple nights later Tony's on the other end of the couch, Pepper leaning against him as silver flashes in his hands, dark purple thread magically transforming into a long tube. 

Tasha has stretched out from the easy chair so that her feet are in Clint's lap; he drags her boots' zippers down her calves and starts kneading down to her ankles after rescuing her feet from the tight leather monsters. She hums in pleasure and she and Tony start a quiet conversation about different kinds of yarn, speaking a language neither Pepper nor Clint do, but all four finding comfort in the lazy swell and ebb of the discussion. 

When the last of the tension drops from Tasha's body she twists, catlike, to fold her legs under her. She and Pepper have a micro expression exchange, and it doesn't dismay Clint the way it might once have that someone else is fluent in their secret code. 

Pepper slips down the side of Tony's body to rest her head in his lap and he keeps twisting row after row of yarn together, her bare toes creeping into Clint's lap to replace Tasha's and she whimpers as he works out each of the tight knots he finds.

Tony hands him the shooting sleeve before they head to bed. He doesn't say anything, but he smiles back at Tony the next day on the range, the purple sleeve perfectly snug around his arm.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, now somewhat edited. Lmk as y'all find errors.


End file.
